Just A Friendly Game of Baseball

Verse One:

[blam] Aww shit, another young brother hit

I better go over my man's crib and get the pump

Cause to the cops, shootin brothers is like playin baseball

And they're never in a slump

I guess when they shoot up a crew, it's a grand slam

And when it's one, it's a home run

But I'ma be ready with a wild pitch

My finger got a bad twitch, plus I'm on the switch --

-- side, and step up to the batter's box

Fuck red and white, I got on Black Sox

But let him shoot a person from the White Sox

What's the call? Foul ball!

Babe Ruth woulda made a good cop, but he didn't

Instead he was a bigot, dig it

My life is valuable and I protect it like a gem

Instead of cops gettin me I'm goin out gettin them

And let em cough up blood like phlegm

It's grim [blam blam] but dead is my antonym

And legally they can't take a fall

Yo check it out it's just a friendly game of baseball

Verse Two:

R.B.I. -- real bad injury

But don't get happy you're in jail for a century

Just as bad as bein shot in the groin

To see who'll shoot ya, they'll flip a coin

And watch him run for the stretch

But you don't know the man is at home waitin to make the catch

So the outfielder guns you down

You're out, off to the dugout, underground

I know a cop that's savage, his pockets stay green like cabbage

Cause he has a good batting average

No questions, just pulls out the flamer

[blam] And his excuses get lamer

Once a brother tried to take a leave

But they shot him in his face sayin he was tryin to steal a base

And people watch the news for coverage on the game

Hmm, and got the nerve to complain

They need to get themselves a front row seat

Or sink a baseline for a beat

Cause television just ain't designed for precision y'all

It's just a friendly game of baseball

Verse Three:

A kid caught on, but I don't know where the brother went

The umpires are the government

I guess they took him out the game, and replace him

with a pinch-hitter, in the scam he was a quitter

So the cops usually torment, I mean tournament

Win em I was sayin

You can't let the umpires, hear ya speak and battle

like the other kid you won't be playin

Cause they'll beat you til your ass drop

A walking gun with a shell in his hand is their mascot

And when they walk around let it be known to step lightly

The bases are loaded

My man got out from three strikes

In the skull but the knife he was carrying was dull

Instead of innings, we have endings

What a fine way to win things

And hot-dog vendors have fun

Sellin you the cat rat and dog on a bun

And when you ask what is all of this called?

It's just a friendly game of baseball